The Story Is About the Journey
The weirdest thing happened last night. Mike and I went to this diner for dinner, and while she parallel parked the car, I went in, punched in a Journey song on the jukebox, then sat down. At that moment, Mike walked in, and I passed out.
When I woke up, the first thing I said was, "What happened?"
"Maybe you were whacked by a rival gang?" said the waitress.
"Ha ha!" I said, trying to get up. "I don't think so. I feel fine."
"No, no, no! Obviously, he's fine, but it symbolized how even though his life seems to be back to normal, he's really living under the Sword of Damocles," said the manager.
"Uh... what the hell?" I asked.
"You're all crazy," said Mike. "He's not even in the diner. I think he's on life support in the hospital after having a major stroke, and now he's thinking of a safe and happy life. The diner... all of us... are a manifestation of his desire for a normal life. Something he can never have "
I frowned at my wife. "Well, why not?"
"Sweetie, we're trying to have a discussion here. Shh!" said Mike.
"Could be he's about to be transferred to France by the Feds as part of the witness protection program," said the dangerous-looking man I'd just seen enter the bathroom before I passed out.
"Ooh! I'd like a trip to France," I said, suddenly very excited. I clapped my hands.
"Maybe it was Steve Buscemi... Uh, whattyacllhim, Tony Blundetto at the door, seeking revenge," said a mother of three at the next booth.
"He blew his head off with a shotgun. I doubt he's seeking much revenge these days!" said the old man with a bowl of cream of potato soup at the counter.
"Look, this is all very interesting and... weird, but I'd like to eat now," I said. Then I stood up, dusted myself off, and sat down in the booth again.
At that moment, Steve Perry burst through the doors and blew my head off with a spray of Uzi fire while singing "Oh Sherry." Sure, it sucked to die, but at least I had closure.
When I woke up, the first thing I said was, "What happened?"
"Maybe you were whacked by a rival gang?" said the waitress.
"Ha ha!" I said, trying to get up. "I don't think so. I feel fine."
"No, no, no! Obviously, he's fine, but it symbolized how even though his life seems to be back to normal, he's really living under the Sword of Damocles," said the manager.
"Uh... what the hell?" I asked.
"You're all crazy," said Mike. "He's not even in the diner. I think he's on life support in the hospital after having a major stroke, and now he's thinking of a safe and happy life. The diner... all of us... are a manifestation of his desire for a normal life. Something he can never have "
I frowned at my wife. "Well, why not?"
"Sweetie, we're trying to have a discussion here. Shh!" said Mike.
"Could be he's about to be transferred to France by the Feds as part of the witness protection program," said the dangerous-looking man I'd just seen enter the bathroom before I passed out.
"Ooh! I'd like a trip to France," I said, suddenly very excited. I clapped my hands.
"Maybe it was Steve Buscemi... Uh, whattyacllhim, Tony Blundetto at the door, seeking revenge," said a mother of three at the next booth.
"He blew his head off with a shotgun. I doubt he's seeking much revenge these days!" said the old man with a bowl of cream of potato soup at the counter.
"Look, this is all very interesting and... weird, but I'd like to eat now," I said. Then I stood up, dusted myself off, and sat down in the booth again.
At that moment, Steve Perry burst through the doors and blew my head off with a spray of Uzi fire while singing "Oh Sherry." Sure, it sucked to die, but at least I had closure.